


Four Tips for Alphas: Omega's Day Off!

by emptycel



Series: First Steps [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!John, First Steps, Fluff, Kidfic, M/M, Omega!Sherlock, Omegaverse, Parent!lock, Slice of Life, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptycel/pseuds/emptycel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sherlock and John can't get a sitter while there's a case on. John doesn't mind watching the pups alone, but there's no shame in seeking some help from a parenting book. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Tips for Alphas: Omega's Day Off!

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Когда у Омеги выходной. Четыре совета альфам!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766776) by [Merla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merla/pseuds/Merla)



> This is not the Part Three I've been promising, this is a short story that I wrote while I've had atrocious blocks on all my other works. It goes chronologically before Part Three anyway, so I figured I may as well publish it now.

John looked at the small book with what he felt was an appropriate amount of skepticism, slightly offended that someone had even purchased it for him (he couldn't remember who, at this point).

_Tips for Alphas: Omega’s Day Off!_ it read with big blocky letters, next to an incredibly staged photo of a female alpha surrounded by rosy cheeked toddlers.

John sniffed, thinking (quite inaccurately, as it turned out) that they would never make something like this for omegas. The idea that alphas were utterly incompetent with their pups was a prevalent one in society. It was also one that made John feel rather attacked and self-conscious.

He could take care of the pups just fine! In fact, it was usually Sherlock that broke things or set the curtains on fire. _Usually_. John _will_ own up to the very unfortunate and never spoken of floor mopping incident, especially since the smell of smoke lingered for weeks, even after they replaced the scorched rug.

On second thought, maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a peek at the book, while the twins were still sleeping and Silas was quietly playing with blocks in the living room. John sat down in his arm chair, keeping an eye out for the toddler. Quiet toddlers were always distressing, they could disappear at a moment's notice and break everything they looked at.

… … … … …

_Tips for Alphas: Omega's Day Off!_

John scowled but kept reading.

_"Number One"_ it said in obnoxiously large type. That was insulting. He was perfectly capable of reading twelve point font. At least they refrained from turning it into a picture book.

_"Follow Your Instincts! Alphas are meant to help care for their pups. Your protective nature is a result of many, many generations of natural selection. It's there for a reason! Listen to it!"_

"Fine," John sighed. Since Sherlock was out solving a case anyway, John could give this a shot. The book was a best seller, there had to be _something_ of worth in it.

… … … … …

Charlotte was crying.

That, in itself, was pretty standard. John was used to babies crying. In fact, even when babies _weren't_ crying, John would swear that he could still hear the sound of it ringing in his inner ear.

But in this case, Charlotte would not _stop_ crying.

John had Charlotte head on his shoulder, patting her back reassuringly and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Shh," he murmured, trying to sound calm while frantically running through the list of what could be upsetting her. He even tried singing a lullaby, but if anything that just made Charlotte cry more.

Which, really, was a bit rude. John knew that he wasn't a great singer, but that reaction was uncalled for.

Oh God, even his inner monologue was starting to sound like Sherlock.

The fact that he even _had_ an inner monologue wasn't a good sign. Soon enough, he would be inexplicably wearing a wool coat in July.

John needed a nap.

He paced from the kitchen to the sitting room back to the kitchen, back to the sitting room, hoping that the motion would be soothing.

It wasn't.

John's eye rested on that stupid book he had been reading earlier when everything was blessedly, blissfully quiet. _Follow your instincts,_ it said. _You're made for this,_ it said.

Well, she wasn't hungry, she didn't have to burp, it wasn't gas, she didn't need her diaper changed, she'd just been sleeping, she was obviously getting attention...

"What do you want?" John finally asked out loud. He sat down on the sofa, grabbed a pillow, and set it on his lap. He laid Charlotte down on the pillow so he could stare at her with sad, pleading eyes.

"Please stop," he requested. Charlotte just kept screaming.

He checked over every inch of her, making sure she wasn't hurt or sick. There was nothing wrong. Charlotte appeared to be screaming just for the fun of it.

"Is that what you're doing?" John asked. "Screaming because you can? If you are, I'm filing for divorce, because God knows you didn't pick it up from me."

"She misses Sean," Sherlock said from the doorway. John would have jumped, had he not had a newborn in his lap or years of military training.

"She just saw Sean," John said dismissively.

"You separated them to feed her?" Sherlock asked. "When Sean was still sleeping?"

John nodded in confirmation.            

"She misses him," Sherlock concluded.

John just shot Sherlock another skeptical look. Sherlock shrugged in response.

"One way to test it," Sherlock said, and went upstairs to the nursery.

John glared at Charlotte. "If he's right, and I look stupid, it's your fault."

Charlotte screeched.

And there was John, acting like a five year old. God, he needed a nap.

Sherlock came back down the stairs, cooing at a fussy Sean. He sat next to John, grabbed the other pillow, and mimicked John's set up until the twins were lying a few inches away from each other.

Charlotte stopped screaming.

John stared at her in stunned silence while Sherlock radiated smugness.

"That doesn't even make sense," John decided after a second. "Her head is turned the other way. She can't even see Sean."

"They spent nine months crammed together," Sherlock pointed out, playing with Sean's teeny tiny fingers. "They don't really know how to be without each other yet."

John sighed and decided just to enjoy the quiet for a little longer.

Maybe he really did need to read that book.

"Where's Silas?" Sherlock asked after a second.

John looked up and saw that the blocks had been abandoned, Silas nowhere in sight. There was the sound of something crashing to the floor, followed by ecstatic giggling.

"I'll get him," John said, passing Charlotte to Sherlock and getting back up to his protesting feet.

… … … … …

Later, John picked up the parenting book and crossed out number one, replacing it with _'Your children defy both logic and instinct. Listen to Sherlock.'_

… … … … …

_Number Two: Plan age appropriate activities. Don't get ahead of yourself! Those pups aren't ready to kick the football around just yet. Make sure to get some toys and games they'll enjoy at their age._

John sincerely doubted he would have football playing children anyway.

Silas was already trying to read and Charlotte just kept....

_Staring._

At everything and everyone. It was slightly disturbing but John was rapidly getting used to it.

He was married to Sherlock, after all.

But books weren't age appropriate yet, so maybe... a stuffed bee?

Why on Earth did Silas have a stuffed bee?

It was an anatomically correct bee and honestly terrifying. John approached Silas, who was trying to eat a shoe, and waved the bee in front of his face.

"You don't want that nasty shoe," John cooed, trying to switch it out for the bee. "It's covered with germs and dirt. I know you're Sherlock's child, but you're also mine and doctors understand the value of hygiene-- don't swallow the shoe lace, don't!" He snatched the shoe away from Silas before he started to choke on the shoe lace.

Of course, Silas's face immediately crumpled up and he started crying.

The twins had finally gotten back to sleep, so John went into instant panic mode.

"No, no, no, no, no," John whispered, picking up Silas and hurrying to the master bedroom. He shut the door so the crying wouldn't be heard in the upstairs bedroom. "I'm sorry that you can't eat the shoe. Please stop crying."

He set Silas down on the bed and looked around for an 'age appropriate toy.'

There was a skull. It appeared to be a cat skull.

Well, Sherlock at least boiled bones before he left them lying around, so it was probably far more sanitary than the shoe.

He handled it to Silas and wondered distantly if he was a bad parent.

Silas slowly stopped crying and grabbed on to the cat skull. He curled up around it and let out a few snuffling breaths.

John sighed in relief and gathered up the pillows and made a little barrier around Silas. He could crawl and he was getting better at walking, but it was still usually safe to leave him alone for a few minutes.

John found the parenting book where it was discarded on the ground and wrote, ' _provided it isn't dangerous, just give them what they want to play with.'_

He went back to the bedroom and settled down next to Silas.

Sherlock was still in the middle of a case, and John could use some shut eye.

… … … … …

_Number Three: Remember, pups are still people! They need food, water, sleep, and to be cleaned!_

John almost threw the book across the room.

He couldn't believe that it was reminding him that his children had human needs. He should have thrown the stupid thing away a long time ago, but part of him was convinced that there must be something helpful in there.

_Over 4 million copies sold!_ the cover advertised.

_Why?_

John took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that not all alphas had medical training and that there were plenty of betas and even omegas that went to prison for neglecting their children. Some people were just too irresponsible to parent without having their hand held.

The twins were in their play pen, batting at a low hanging mobile. The two of them worked in tandem and appeared to be taking turns so they wouldn't accidentally swat the other's hand.

It was the third time this month that they couldn't get a sitter for a case. Sherlock had promised to be home an hour ago to give John a brief reprieve, but another body had been found. Sherlock was thrilled that he had another serial killer. They were few and far in between and Sherlock _lived_ for them.

"Ba ba ba ba..." Silas was chanted as he gripped onto the side of Sherlock's arm chair, trying to get to his feet on his own. "Ba ba ba ba--Papa?" he asked after a second, giving John a curious glance.

"Papa is chasing bad guys," John responded, sitting on the floor and leaning against his own arm chair tiredly. His eyes kept drooping shut and he was struggling to remain conscious. Sean had been screaming with indigestion all night and John was getting too old to be functioning on one hour of sleep.

"Papa!" Silas insisted, his chubby legs trembling as they struggled to support his weight.

They really had to get one of those bouncy-seat-things. What were they called? Jumping Jacks or something like that. Silas needed to build up some leg muscle.

"He's not here," John repeated.

Silas eventually went back to babbling. That, combined with the sound of the twins' giggling, lulled John to sleep against his will.

John woke up when something crashed to the floor.

He knew he'd screwed up when he realized that the lighting in the room was dramatically different that it had been the last time his eyes had been open.

There was loud wailing coming from the kitchen, and the twins were both fussing pathetically in their playpen.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit._

John groaned, getting to his feet as fast as he could--which, unfortunately, was not very fast. He hurried to the kitchen to find Silas surrounded by every single pot and pan that they owned. There was a rapidly reddening spot on his forehead where something had smacked him. There was also a busted up jar of mashed fruit on the ground, fruit juices looking like blood spatters on the cabinet.

"Tum!" Silas sobbed. "TumTum!" He picked up a handful of fruit mush and started sucking on it greedily.

It took a second for John to understand everything.

Silas had gotten very hungry and, instead of whining at John for food and waking his up, decided to try and feed himself.

Silas was less than two years old, and he was trying to feed himself. Under normal circumstances, John would be impressed, but he was too busy hating himself to think about much else.

He scooped Silas up before he could cut himself on the sharp chunks of plastic from the broken jar (didn't they keep that in the fridge? How the bloody hell had Silas gotten into the fridge?) and set him in his high chair. He went to the fridge, pulled out a cup of applesauce, and snagged a toddler spoon from the counter. He set Silas up with all of that and then checked on the twins, who were increasing the volume of their cries steadily.

Both of them desperately needed a change, and they were probably hungry as well.

Stupid, _stupid_ John falling asleep.

He changed Sean quickly, then Charlotte with a little more care since she appeared to be developing a bad case of diaper rash.

They needed bottles, and he could only prepare one at a time. He listened for a moment to determine which of them was crying louder before picking Sean up and taking him to the kitchen.

He had forgotten about the wreck of pots and pans and fruits and broken stuff until he had to step over it to heat Sean's bottle.

Silas was covered in applesauce, but he was smiling again. The red spot on his forehead was brighter, but it didn't seem to be bothering him, so John felt alright about leaving him in the high chair for a few moments while he heated the bottles.

Once they were prepared, he started feeding Sean one handed as he carried the other bottle to Charlotte.

She was still in the play pen, her face shiny with tears.

He set down the bottle, scooped her up with one arm, fumbled the bottle with his fingertips, and then finally settled in his chair, managing to feed both of them at once with their heads resting in the crook of his elbow and the bottles barely balanced with the pads of his fingers.

His heart rate finally started to slow down. Soon the only sound on the flat was the sound on Silas banging his spoon on everything in reach and flinging applesauce everywhere.

After the twins fell asleep, there would have to be bath time, then John was going to have to figure out how to clean up the kitchen.

John was so tired.

… … … … …

By the time Sherlock got home, everything was clean and everyone was asleep. John was passed out on the sofa with Silas on his chest.

The case had been closed, and Sherlock was exhausted, but he allowed himself a moment to watch his mate sleep.

He was so fortunate to have an alpha like John. Some were atrocious when it came to parenting, but his John seemed to have a knack for it.

He smiled at the scene before him before staggering to the bathroom.

He was too tired to notice that there was still some fruit smeared on the kitchen cabinets.

Or that the stupid parenting book he'd gotten John as a gag gift was open on the coffee table with Step Three underlined twice, with an annotation in John's handwriting reading, ' _Much harder than it sounds.'_

… … … … …

_Step Four: It's incredibly important to remember that--_

"John, are you actually reading that?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"No!" John exclaimed, tossing the book to the side. "No, not at all. Of course not, why would I need to read a silly parenting book?" There was a paused. John sniffed and tried to keep a blank face.

Sherlock's lips twitched. "You were reading that."

"No, I wasn't."

"You were reading something so ridiculous and _pedestrian_."

John hesitated for a moment, mentally flailing for an excuse, before giving up. "You know what Sherlock? Shut up."

Sherlock burst into laughter.

"Seriously, Sherlock! It's impossible to watch all three of them by myself!" John was embarrassed and indignant. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Yard?"

"The butler did it," Sherlock said, making a disgusted face at the cliché. "Dozens of mystery novels with the same exact plot, and not a single officer paused to even joke that the butler might have done it."

"Sorry that it wasn't more interesting."

"It _seemed_ so promising," Sherlock lamented. "There were newspaper clippings of different crimes scattered about--of course, as soon as I saw which cases they referred to, I knew that they had just been placed there to confuse Lestrade and his lackeys. They had nothing to do with each other. All the crimes had completely different motivations."

"Why did the butler do it?" John asked, trying to subtly nudge the parenting book under the couch with his foot while Sherlock was distracted.

"He would have inherited a large sum of money--the woman didn't have any family. Honestly, the most obvious solution in the world and no one could figure it out. They were so hung up on the newspaper clippings: researching each crime, trying to connect them somehow--and don't think I'm done mocking you for reading that book."

John gave Sherlock a bland look. "No idea what you're talking about."

"You don't?"

"Not at all."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes I'm---ugh. You know how hard it is to watch all three of them! I have no idea how you do it when I run out for the shopping."

Sherlock immediately looked away. "Oh, you know. I just carefully and meticulously plan out the schedule and--John, where are you going?"

John got to his feet, strode across the room, and started rooting around Sherlock’s favorite hiding spot—under the cushion of his arm chair.

"John, you're being ridiculous, stop that!" Sherlock ordered with a rising note of panic.

John just snorted at him when he felt the edge of something hard and square. He pulled out a small paperback book and held it up triumphantly.

" _Tips for First Time Parents: Omega Edition,_ " John read aloud. "Oh, and you've flagged a chapter!"

Sherlock pounced, landing mostly on John's back as he grappled for the book.

"Give me that!" Sherlock grunted, trying to pin John down.

Yeah, that wasn't happening. John was stronger and he'd had military training. In a few moments, Sherlock was flat on his back while John straddled his chest, still holding to book up with glee. "Chapter Seven," he read. " _Watching the Pups When Alpha's Away._ Oh look, they have ten steps listed here."

"I'm sorry for mocking you," Sherlock said pathetically. John ignored him.

"And you've annotated! And...are these cited annotations? Have you been cross referencing with other parenting books?"

"I shouldn't have made fun of you. It was hypocritical," Sherlock recited without much feeling.

"You've highlighted certain passages," John pointed out. "Also, this book is incredibly sexist. It assumes that the alpha goes to work every day and leaves the omega to slave away at home."

"That is the norm," Sherlock pointed out. "You and I are a bit unusual."

John smiled at Sherlock, full of fondness and affection. "You know what? I was thinking while I was reading the other book--our pups are strange."

"They are," Sherlock agreed. "As we speak, Silas is trying to eat my new cat skull."

John glanced at Silas in the corner of the room, attempting to shove a cat skull in his mouth. John made a dismissive grunt and turned back to Sherlock.   
"I don't think these books are much help," he concluded. "Not when they were written with normal children in mind."

Sherlock grinned. "Maybe we should trust out instincts. They got us this far."

John laughed. "Yeah, sure. Let's just trust our instincts. What could go wrong?"

Sherlock propped himself up and gave John a quick kiss.

In the background, Silas threw a cat skull against the wall and started crying.

_Let's just take this one step at a time_ , John thought as the crying set off a chain reaction, waking up the twins from their nap.

He got up and helped Sherlock to his feet. They smiled at each other for just a moment before Sherlock went to Silas and John went to the twins.

Yeah, parenting wasn't that bad, John thought, shushing his daughter and putting a soothing hand on his son. Not bad at all when he had his omega by his side.

 

 


End file.
